


You Creep in the Darkness

by definitelyflowers



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Sex, Ghouls, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 05:37:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6553099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/definitelyflowers/pseuds/definitelyflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lazarus and KV have a lot in common, more than they initially expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Creep in the Darkness

Lazarus puts the cigarette out on the slab of concrete, scanning the empty street below him for signs of danger. The sun is near setting, and beside the occasional radroach, the wasteland around him is silent. It’s always silent. There isn’t enough world left to sustain noise, though the land stretches out far and wide. He catches himself relaxing, stiffens. It’s hard being alone. No one watching his back, no one protecting him when he sleeps. 

And he needs sleep. It’s been days, he thinks, maybe weeks, since he found decent rest. The few populated places reject him wholly. They don’t trust him, a ghoul and a killer. They see it in his face, they say, and in the blood on his weapon. They call him a raider. They judge him for his passion, but underneath it all, he’s the one keeping them safe from the real dangers out there. There are plenty of them, people who would kill Pickman for nothing, people who slaughter innocents for a few caps. Lazarus meets the type again and again, and he hates being associated with it. His duty is to paint the remnants of the world with their blood, but if the little-minded people of the wastes believe he’s there to cause them harm, then he’ll keep his distance. He likes making trouble, hates it at the expense of others.

He scoffs and lights another cigarette. If sleep is scarce, smokes are plentiful. The couch underneath him is almost soft. Though the room smells of mildew and the wallpaper is peeling from centuries of atrophy, it’s comfortable. At least, he pretends it’s comfortable. He won’t admit what he would give for a warm meal and a place without holes in the ceiling, but those are distant dreams because he knows what he is. 

A sound catches his ears. He sits up, hand finding its way to his hook. The cigarette dangles from his lips, and he squints into the setting sun. A shadow overwhelms the crumbling road, dark and menacing, and a lone figure trails behind.

He checks his position. Not a chance he would be spotted from here, safe between old walls. Still, it isn’t worth the risk, and he knows he’ll lose the advantage quickly with the sun’s last light pouring over him. He draws his hood up and crawls along the edge of the room. Whatever walks down the road doesn’t care for silence. Its feet echo in the quiet. Lazarus recognizes the noise as heels. He shakes his head, laughing to himself as he moves closer. Only a fool would travel alone and unable to flee, and fools aren’t long for the world, not if he has his way.

Ducking behind a pile of rubble, Lazarus peers over his shoulder. The person—it must be a person, human or ghoul doesn’t matter—has stopped moving, and though the sun is still shining bright, he can see the details of the body.

The first thing he notes is the size. It’s thin but tall and it towers above the debris of the wasteland. 

The second thing he notes is the jacket. Feathers aren’t common, not when birds are so rare, but the person has a neck surrounded by them. Lazarus dares to reconfigure his posture, hopes to get a better view. He is silent, melding with the darkening day. 

He won’t admit the tinge of fear creeping up his spine.

“I know ya’ll is there.” Lazarus stops. His eyes narrow. He knows the voice. He’s heard it before, with people like raiders. The pieces fall into place slower than he would like, but he knows who it is. The height, the boa, the accent. It’s the one who calls himself the King Vulture. “If you come out, I won’t make it painful.”

He doesn’t respond. Rather, he tightens his hold on his hook and laughs. “You think you scare me?” He calls from his hiding place.

“I think only an idiot tries to sneak while smoking.”

Fuck. He had forgotten it in his haste to move. Lazarus lets it fall to the ground, stamping it out with the edge of his boot. He stands, knowing his stealth is lost, but there’s not a gun in the wastes that can stop him.

He takes a step closer to KV, eyes glued to his hands. There’s a pistol on his hip left hip, a machete on the other, but the man doesn’t try to go for either. He stands in the middle of the road, arms at his sides. Lazarus slips his focus to KV’s gaunt face. He’s missing his lips, and his smile shows sharpened teeth.

“What are you doing alone?” Lazarus takes a step closer. “You filthy raider.”

“Aw, why did you have to go and say that, darlin’?”

KV closes the distance between them in two quick strides, his right hand balled as he throws it into Lazarus’s cheek.

Lazarus stumbles back. The world is blurry, but he’s used to being hit. It’s the price he pays when fighting for justice. He throws his arm up, reaching out for KV, anything to wound him and stop him, but the bigger man is too fast. He sidesteps and lands another punch, this time to Lazarus’s stomach.

"I wasn't gonna hurt you, but," he grabs Lazarus's hood with one hand and slams his fist into Lazarus's throat before letting him drop to the ground. He laughs and kicks him in the ribs. "But this is fun."

KV rests his hands on his hips and leans down. His face is spread in a wicked smile, enjoying the ragged breaths Lazarus draws in.

Lazarus sees his chance and takes it. He draws the butcher's hook along the other's ankle. KV shrieks and falls to one knee, and Lazarus is ready for him. He takes the chain attached to his hook and slings it around the man's neck, sitting up just enough so that it knots around KV’s thin neck.

Then Lazarus pulls.

KV’s eyes bulge in their sockets, his lips curl into a desperate sneer, and his hands yank at the links biting into his scarred skin. Lazarus takes his time, walking around KV and putting his boot on his back so that he has better leverage to strangle the air out of KV's lungs.

A slow minute passes where he enjoys the sounds of death emanating from KV before loosens his hold.

"Explain yourself," he commands, keeping his hands ready resume choking.

KV sucks in a few loud breaths. Lazarus waits.

"I'm not—a fucking—raider."

Lazarus scoffs. "That's what they all say, and I kill liars."

"I kill 'em, too." KV states, his chest finally able to fill with air. "I hunt 'em down and kill 'em. Haven't ya’ll seen the camps torn to pieces? That’s me."

He has, but Lazarus isn't about to respond.

"I thought you were the raider."

"Me?" His grip loosens a little more, giving KV enough room to twist his head and make eye contact. "I am no such thing."

"You ain't a raider?" KV's voice is filled with surprise. "Do you know how long I been doggin' at your trail?"

Lazarus unwinds the chain. "You've been hunting me?" KV nods. "I've been hunting you."

"No fucking way." KV gets to his feet. His neck is beginning to bruise from the force of Lazarus's grip, and he leans on his undamaged leg, but the malice in his posture is gone. He sticks out a hand. "They call me King Vulture."

"I know."

"You don't look bad all banged up, darlin'."

Lazarus touches the side of his face. He knows it's swelling, can feel the pressure building under his skin. His cheeks heat up, though whether it's from being on the wrong end of KV's fists or the term of endearment tacked on to the end of his words. He has to crane his head to stare up at the other man, and a jolt of excitement travels down his spine.

He wants to be cautious, wants to convince himself that the so-called king is a liar, but the smile draws him in and his stomach jumps at the sight of those sharp teeth. He glances away, releasing a stifled laugh.

"Darling? That's not something you call someone you're trying to kill."

"I ain’t trying to kill you now."

His body aches, and Lazarus isn't positive the fight caused it. "What's stopping you?"

"If you ain't no raider, I don't got no business slicing that pretty neck of yours."

Lazarus narrows his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying if you don't want to kill me, and I don't want to kill you, then I see no reason why we shouldn't not kill each other. Maybe we stick together? At least until we find somewhere a little bit more habitable.” The debt he owes to sleep hits him harder than KV ever could, and he nods. KV wraps an long arm around his tense shoulders. “You with anyone else?”

“You’d be dead if I wasn’t alone.”

KV laughs. “You keep telling yourself that, sweet thing. Ain’t no shame in pretending to be better than you are.”

Lazarus has nothing to say. Not one to speak often, he’ll be damned if he allows some fast-talking stick of a man to drag the words out of him. He’s tired, and hungry, and the places where he sustained damage scream at him to sit down. It isn’t until he starts walking that he realizes KV is using him as a crutch, leaning on him heavily as he limps by Lazarus’s side. He strains to breathe as well, and Lazarus smiles to know he caused it.

Tentatively, he snakes his own arm around KV’s thin hips. The bone juts out from under the skin, ^especially obvious without layers of clothing distorting his figure. He runs his fingers along it, and KV shudders.

“Don’t you go doin’ that, you hear?”

Lazarus doesn’t stop, not until KV pulls away. He watches KV struggle to walk straight, watches the bounce of his ass as his long legs, even damaged, take him to the ruined building faster than Lazarus himself.

He stops at the bottom of the stairs, and Lazarus holds back a smile when KV glances back to him.

“You fucked me up,” he admits, and that’s all it takes for Lazarus to resume his position by KV’s side, hauling him up each step. The climb takes a lot out of the taller man, and he’s panting from the effort. “Hold on, I gotta sit.” He collapses onto a worn couch, stretching his arms above his head as he yawns. Lazarus takes in the lift of KV’s body, the curve of his stomach, the flat plane of scarred skin.

He turns on his heels and moves to his bag, digging through it for a dose of med-x. His whole back is a bundle of pain, and he needs it. Some would say he’s addicted to the stuff, but whatever happened to his vertebrae needs treatment. KV’s punches and kicks don’t help the situation.

Lazarus holds it between his teeth as he wraps a thin band of cloth around his bicep, constricting the circulation until the main vein pops up, begging to be punctured. Between the various divots and scars that trail up and down his arm, a clear trail of small holes is apparent. He bites the cap of the vial off and spits it at his feet. The needle glints in the last rays of sunlight, and he uses it to avoid the tracks. So many years of use have narrowed his ability to find a place to inject the stuff, and he doesn’t want to start jabbing between his fingers and toes, but he knows he’s getting desperate.

He finds a small spot and shoves the tip in, sighing as the liquid fills his body.

“You got some for me, darlin’?”

Lazarus debates sharing, but he thinks of KV’s large, open wound and knows he has to do right. He digs for his last one and tosses it to the other man. KV catches it, his coat already shrugged off. He doesn’t take the time to bind his own arm and wait for a vein to come to the surface. With practiced ease, he stuffs the end of the needle into himself, a wisp of a grin on his skinless lips. He lets the used vial fall from his hand and settles back, patting the space beside him. His long nails tap against the springs in the cushion, and Lazarus wonders what they might feel like raking down his back.

He grabs the blanket at the bottom of his pack and throws it onto the couch, settling in behind it.

“My name is Lazarus.”

KV sighs. “I could have guessed. Looks like someone brought you back from the dead.”

“What?”

“Nothin’, cutie.”

Lazarus’s face grows hot and red. “What?”

“Nothing.” This time, KV elongates the word and speaks louder. Then he laughs. “You ain’t used to being called cute? I wouldn’t have guessed. Underneath all that fabric, I bet you’re sweet as mutfruit pie. You ever had a mutfruit pie?”

“No.”

“That’s a mighty big shame, you ask me. You stick around, maybe we get a bite in those pretty lips.”

Lazarus turns away. He hates how quickly KV gets under his skin, how easily the words impress themselves on his heart. People don’t call him cute. People don’t like him. They call him a monster and a murderer, ignore the good he does for the wastes, and turn him away. They kill his friends and then fight him when he seeks vengeance. He doubts KV is any different from them. Raider or not, he’s still a stranger and a risk.

But sleep keeps knocking at his door, demanding entry. He shuts his eyes for a moment, and the darkness overtakes him as the sun winks out of the blackening sky.

—

Everywhere hurts. He peels his eye open, glad to see the sky is still full of stars. The med-x has worn off, that much he is sure of. There’s a definite place in his ribs where KV kicked him, and he hopes it isn’t cracked. Cracked ribs take so long to heal, even with radiation.

A heaviness rests on his shoulder, and he looks over to see KV’s sleeping head on him. At some point, the other put his coat back on, and Lazarus becomes aware of the chill in the air. The blanket he pulled out earlier is on top of their laps, and he can’t hold back his smile.

He sneaks his hand to the other’s hair, taking a brief moment to brush the few strands from his eyes. He bites down on his lip. It’s not a bad view, this. He imagines waking up in the position often, having someone to watch his back and having a back to watch, imagines the light snoring becoming a common lullaby.

He decides it’s worth the risk, decides it’s been a long time since he tried to be personable, a person. Lazarus ducks down and presses a small, chaste kiss to KV’s forehead.

KV opens his eyes, red lined with black. He smiles, or tries to with what’s left of the exterior of his mouth. “Ya’ll think I’m cute.” It’s not a question. He and Lazarus both know the truth. Lazarus doesn’t try to deny it, doesn’t think of denying it. He keeps his voice quiet, opting to kiss KV’s gums. The kiss deepens instantly, KV pushing his tongue between Lazarus’s willing lips. Lazarus climbs onto his lap and wraps his arms around the other’s shoulders. Everything piles on him at once: the loneliness, the need for touch, the desire to have someone understand him for a few hours. He grinds himself against KV and moans. Their arousals try to reach one another against the fabric restraining them.

Lazarus lets his hands wander down KV’s bare torso. The muscle tenses under his skin, and he laughs.

“Stop that, now. You’re tickling me.”

“So?” Lazarus’s voice is breathy, deep. He starts to trail kisses down KV’s neck, suckling on the place his chain had been a few hours before. KV gasps at the sensation, at the way Lazarus’s rough fingers keep lightly massaging his skin. “I want you.”

“Ah, sweet thing, why didn’t you just say so?” Lazarus dips a little lower, finds hsi zipper with ease. He drags it down. The sound encourages both of them to resume their kissing. It becomes frantic, and Lazarus starts to run his palm over KV’s cock, eliciting a low moan. He moves his wrist up and down until KV’s hips are bucking against his motions, until he’s practically whimpering between kisses.

“One moment,” Lazarus whispers and stands. He shucks his pants before walking to his bag.

“You look real fine at this angle. Cute ass.” He listens to KV touch himself. He’s glad he’s facing away, glad KV can’t see the stupid grin on his face or his blush or the stiffening of his erection. He bends forward, trying not to laugh at how pathetic he must look, but KV lets out a groan of pleasure. He opens a side pocket and pulls out a small bottle of oil. Travel prepared, that’s what they say. He’s more than prepared for what he wants to do whenever he wants to do it.

Lazarus tries to saunter back to KV, hoping he looks sexy. He watches the other man slowly work himself, sees the way his eyes widen when he notices the bottle in his hands. The coils deep in his stomach get tighter. “Do you want to?” 

His voice is shaking, awkward. He thinks he’s about to be rejected, but then, “You look so beautiful, darlin’.”

He sinks to his knees and pops open the bottle, smearing some onto his hands. KV lets him take over and with no lips to bite, he’s loud as Lazarus pulls his foreskin down and runs his calloused thumb over the tip. He starts at a slow pace. Lazarus loves it like this, loves people wanting him and begging for him. He doesn’t have to say it out loud, either. KV can sense exactly what he needs.

“Please,” he’s hoarse, trembling. “Please let me in you, Laz.”

Lazarus swallows. It’s not something he does often—he can’t stand not being in charge. He thinks about KV’s leg, it must be hurting, and knows there’s only one option if they continue.

KV doesn’t wait for an answer. His palm rests on Lazarus’s ass, his fingers wander further until they’re playing at Lazarus’s entrance. Lazarus tries to push down the moan that surfaces as KV fondles him, but he fails. A little squeak passes from his lips, and he ducks his head to hide his face.

“Not used to someone taking care of you like this, are you? You don’t gotta be shy.” KV’s free hand rests on his cheek. He continues to finger Lazarus even as he turns Lazarus’s head so their eyes meet. “I like the way you squirm. I bet the other guys you been with are all in it for the fucking, huh? I ain’t about to claim I don’t want to fuck you—damn if you let me, I’d fuck you every goddamn day—but it’s ain’t all that. I respect a man who can give me a good whoopin’. And you, sexy, could’ve killed me.”

He presses his pointer finger into Lazarus, waiting for it to slip through to the first knuckle.

“You mind handing me that? Don’t wanna hurt you.”

It takes Lazarus a moment before his mind catches up with KV’s words. He passes the bottle over, enamored at the swiftness of the other ghoul as he pours a generous amount onto his fingers and slips the first finger back inside. Lazarus shudders and groans. The pressure feels good, and it’s been too long since he had this type of intimacy. Fucking isn’t the same as KV kissing and fingering him. It’s a nice sensation, fills him with warmth even as the cold night sinks into his bones, especially when KV wiggles another inside.

He gasps and groans and lets himself give in to KV, who spreads his fingers wide and curls them forward. “You like that, don’t you, darlin’? You want more?” Lazarus nods, but KV clicks his tongue. “I need you to tell me you want it.”

“I—I want it.” He’s barely able to speak, barely able to do anything but be fucked. Still, his hands find a steady rhythm along KV’s arousal, and they grind against each other, cocks pressing into one another. The friction elicits a moan from both men. “I want you in me.”

KV doesn’t respond with words, but his strong arms move Lazarus forward. He slides himself inside, groaning quietly as Lazarus’s body accepts the intrusion. They rock together slowly as they adjust to the sensation of closeness. Lazarus kisses KV once again, distracting himself from the pain and discomfort that shoots up his spine as he pushes himself further down the shaft. It’s not the kind of pain he likes, the kind he lusts after. It’s a little too much, and he whimpers against KV’s open mouth.

“You doing alright, Laz?” KV’s voice is tender, concerned. He rests his hands on Lazarus’s hips, thumbs digging into bone. Lazarus nods.

“I’m fine. I— No one—” And he doesn’t know what else to say. There are a thousand words that could spill from his lips, a million reasons to why he isn’t fine, but he shuts his eyes and shakes his head. His body acclimatizes to KV, and the other ghoul doesn’t question further.

Both of them know it’s just a fuck. Nothing worthwhile comes from learning too much.

He finds himself again, the man forged from blood and fire, and grits his teeth. Lazarus refuses to be the weakling, the runt. He’s a savior to the needy. He’s powerful. He doesn’t need reassurance about what he’s capable of, nor does he need KV’s sugary sweet words twisting him into something deranged.

Lazarus pulls away and digs his nails into KV's strong shoulders. He ignores the surge of agony in his body as he shifts his hips up before pressing back down. KV is lost in it already, his eyes fluttering shut as Lazarus takes control. And oh, he does. He starts a steady, sharp rhythm of his hips against KV, his lips against KV. Tongues wind together in a tangle of desperation.

The pain subsides slowly, eventually, and he starts to enjoy the tingle of calloused fingers pulling at the clothes on his back and the fullness within him. His cock strains to rub against KV’s belly. He gasps when the friction hits him. The angle creates a bubble of pleasure that releases itself from between his lips in the form of a small grunt, and KV chuckles before pressing his mouth to Lazarus’s neck and digging his pointed teeth in. The next few minutes are consumed with softness. Their bodies rock together in a slow motion, letting it build until Lazarus is gasping and KV is laughing and they tremble in each other's arms.

It unfurls in Lazarus's stomach, a bundle of pleasure that mounts as it overcomes him. He whimpers and spills himself on KV's naked stomach. The tightness of his body does the same to the other ghoul, and Lazarus feels it soaking into his body. He tries to breathe, tries to steady his mind even as his hands shake.

And KV kisses him, runs his palms up and down Lazarus's sides, whispers encouragement in gentle tones.

"Did you like that, darlin'? Feel good?"

Lazarus has nothing to say. He tries to empty his head, but it's a current of thoughts streaming together. KV slips Lazarus off his lap and wipes himself off, ever patient. His fingers find Lazarus's in the darkness of the night. They don't speak.

After a while, KV's breath softens. His eyes are closed, his chest moves with the rhythms of sleep. Lazarus doesn't know what to do. His heart aches, his body aches, and it hurts to dwell on. He knows that whoever this man is—raider or no—he's not going to stick around. A day of violence and a night of sex isn't enough to keep him around. No one stays for long. They die or they leave, but they never keep him company.

He refuses to let it happen again. He creeps off the couch, stuffs his things back into his bag. KV doesn't stir from his slumber. There's something like a smile on his face, something like contentment, and Lazarus resents that he could be so at peace in this horrible world full of horrible people. He wraps his chain around his arm, slings his pack over his shoulder, and steadies the weight of his hook in his hand. The sun is close to rising. The warmth penetrates the cold of the night, the stars disappear in the lightening sky.

He sets off towards the west, the dawn breaking behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Lazarus belongs to skizoh.tumblr.com  
> KV belongs to aspidrun.tumblr.com


End file.
